I, Freak
by Ebon Hush
Summary: SLA Industries fic focusing on a young Ebb user and her way to greatness. Also features various other characters such as G'kar, the Shaktar and More the Stormer. Wacky and absolutely useless, unless you are familiar with the World of Progress!


**Disclaimer: **I do not own SLA Industries or the World of Progress, the GODS that made it do.

**A/N: **This fic is based on a Role Playing Game, so of course the main character is a former PC of mine, tweaked to appear all hero like.

This is a one shot at the moment, but if I get reviews (any review, really) I might continue it.

**I, Freak**

**Chapter 1: a Day in the Life**

The hard rock is pounding in my ears and I put down my notes to massage my temples and try to ease the killer headache.

He's been home from Meny on leave for two days and he's driving me up the bloody **wall**!

_What is it with these party-hardy Wasters anyway?_

I open the drawer in my busted little bedside cabinet, looking for my earplugs, pain killers, a sledgehammer, **anything**

_I don't believe it._

"Where are they", I mumble getting steadily more annoyed as an entirely new pounding joins the bass line of the horrible, horrible 'music' my brother seems to like so much.

"Ohh…. Baby. Yeah!" The grunts and pants actually drown out the music (noise) for a while and the pounding increases in the next room to a degree, where I can feel it through the thin plaster wall.

_That. Is. IT!_

I jump off the mattress and stalk across the two meters of hallway that separate my room from his.

"Alex. Alex! Turn it the fuck _down_ you demented little twerp!" I yell, pounding on the door.

A male laugh, discordantly mixed with a very familiar hysterical giggle is the only response I get.

_Fucker_ I think darkly and keep right on pounding on the door.

"Alexander! I'm trying to study, man. Turn it the fuck DOWN!"

Suddenly the door isn't there anymore, and my fist collides with a broad muscled chest instead. I look up into my brother's scowling face. His black hair is matted and sweaty, he reeks of sex and Feelgoods and I swear he looks more demented than usual. He easily catches my hand before it can connect a second time and squeezes my writs until I can practically feel the bones creaking.

"WHAT!?" he yells.

I try not to wince as my wrist cracks, but damn. I don't **do** pain. I simply cannot stand pain.

"Ow, Alex! Let go for fucks sake," I cry.

Through the haze that seems hell bent on turning my world grey I hear him mumble something to whoever is on the bed. I try to focus and stand up straight, but when he pushes me to the hallway wall, my knees give out and I slide to the floor. He starts yelling at me then. Something about weakness and jealousy and that pansy Ebons like me belong on the floor, and man… the floor is dirty and I just cleaned up. And everything is misty and confusing because now his fingers are in my hair and he's pulling me up with one hand and I hate that he's stronger than me and he knocks my head against the wall and he orders me to look at him when he's fucking talking to me.

I raise my unblinking eyes to his. **This** is more my thing. I stare at him and he has obviously forgotten that this is **my** game. Usually he never enters into a staring contest with me. He knows better- usually – but he's high as all Uptown and his latest bitch is watching with a vapid smile. Already he has that small tick in his cheek he always gets when he's about to break eye contact and hit me. I just don't care. This isn't about pain or too loud music anymore. This is about dominance.

"Turn the music down, Alexander," I say, smiling sweetly.

"Make me, you little freak bitch," he snarls and tightens his hand in my hair.

It hurts like all hell and I'm getting dizzy again. His charred eyes seem to be swirling like crazy, animated Rorschach tests and I know I gotta end it now, or he will actually win this one. That can **not **happen. I will not blink. I will not look away. Not ever again.

_Bad things happen when you look away. shouting,screaming,gunshot,blood on my face_

"Freak?" I laugh. "_I'm_ not the one listening to daddy's music while banging some bitch in mommy's bed."

The half choked giggle of amusement and the snorted "Mommy's bed?" from the girl behind him makes him turn his head a bit in her direction.

_Score _I crow in my mind. I turn my attention to the bitch as well.

"Oh Alexander", I purr with fake admiration. "She looks just like her too… Issues, little brother?"

He goes absolutely still.

_Oh shit. Here it comes_

Those are my last thoughts before everything goes dark.

The next day, I'm sporting one hell of a shiner, a sore side and Alex is gone. I'm shaking like an addict and I can't seem to stop as I pick my self up from the bed, where he must have tossed me after he sobered up. Of course the entire flat is trashed and I just know he didn't get to finish with the girl last night. He doesn't like being reminded of mom more than I do, I guess. The thought of him going back to Meny frustrated is a small consolation, but a consolation none the less.

I grab my raincoat and a couple of twenties and head down a few floors to Fourth, where the local liquor store is located. I buy a six pack and three packs of FG's. Then I head to the only lift that works in this piece of shite building. I'm sure as syphilis not about to walk up sixteen flights of stairs with bruised ribs and border-line epileptic shakes, thank-you-very-much! I get off the lift and make an effort to hold out my arms a bit, so the enforcer in the hallway can see that I'm unarmed.

"Hey, Callisto. I come bearing gifts. Is she in?" I ask him.

He cocks his head to one side and the bones in his dreads lightly clink together.

_How does he sneak up on people like that_? I wonder. _I bet he doesn't._

Arrogant and foolish, but hey I guess he's allowed being all at the top of the Johannah food chain and shit. He just nods and waves me through to flat number 2066.

I nod politely to him and prepare myself for some semi serious grovelling and humility. The Ebb witch who lives here has cards of healing and I need her to work her mojo on me. I make sure my misery is clearly displayed and knock softly on the door.

"Ahh… My leetle one. I se see ya big brother has been home and up to no-good sheet again. How can Mamma Kayla help you?"

As I step through the door I curse my 'big' younger brother to the War Worlds and back. He might be bigger than me but so fucking what?!? He still acts like a twelve year old. If it weren't for him I wouldn't need to spend my last money getting healed up for a job interview. I wanted to use that dough for a new pair of industrial strength earplugs and some new shades, which, again, I wouldn't need if he hadn't stolen the old ones.

_Bastard_.

**-()-**

Luckily I get the job, and I now have a semi regular income.

_Whoopee_…

Said hard earned money is going straight into Meny prep discs on Ebb theory.

_I gotta get outta here_.

Unfortunately, I have absolutely no chance of passing the 'Practical Application' part of the Ebb tests. What, do I look like a ganger to you? I haven't ever touched a Glyph card. Alex has, and he passed the first time off course. He hasn't stopped rubbing my face in the fact that he got out first, the smug bastard.

I did _way_ better than him on the theory part, not that it matters… Theory is all well and good, but I guess SLA Industries only has use for theory if you happen to be some upper class twit corporate, whose daddy can get you a plush position in Dark Lament Research or something. I need practical skill.

Which is why I've taken to hang out around my new workplace after quitting time. Operatives sometimes come to the Downtown bar where I work, when they get out after a BPN. The Pitch Black Bar is in upper Downtown, so it is just enough slum for the ex-Downtowners to feel tough and at home, without having to gear up and get scratches on their nice armour.

It's mainly Frother Ops, but squads mix the races. That's what I was counting on when I took the job. Operatives drink after BPNs and when they drink, they talk. I mean, I know I'm not the prettiest girl here – the red eyes and white skin, lips, hair, everything else, really isn't really conductive to that 'off-the-shelf-pretty-girl' look - but I'm the only non operative Ebon female in the house.

What **does** help is the fact that males - that is Ebon and Waster males - simply cannot resist the starry eyed 'Oh-my-aren't-you-just-the-most-amazing-Ebb-user-since-Teeth-please-show-me-how-you-did-that' look.

Here's a little 'Basic Psychology one-oh-one' for ya: Males think with their dicks. Unfortunately they also have a tendency to underestimate us poor non-entities. I must look stupid to them or something… After two months, all I've got is parlour tricks, sleight of hand and that **damned** finger lighter… "Oohh giggle… Neat".

_Yeah right_.

The closest I've gotten to a useful tip on Ebb manipulation was a guy who folded us to his car, so he could get me in the sack quicker.

_Damn!_

Oh well… It's still free booze and drugs. (Plus the 150 quid I stole from his wallet. I don't think he'll mind or even remember.)

The only useful thing I've learned in this dump is how to read lips like a pro. Loud music and earplugs will do that to ya.

Two weeks after that guy I quit. And I'm not coming back. I can't stand the thought of failing that test. I won't fail!

I get a mail from brother dearest. He knows the date of the test, and wishes me good luck "You're gonna need it, sis."

I almost smile.

_Arrogant fuck_ I think fondly. I almost like him when he's snarky, sarcastic, non-violent and oh yes, half a world away.

**-()-**

When I sit down at my test with all the other hopeful schmucks, I've got nothing. Nada, Zilch, Zip.

_Bugger bugger bugger… I'm going to fail!_

Off course, I complete the theory in record time, easy-peasy. Then I open the 'Practical' part of the questionnaire.

"What mnemonic patterns should an operative employ to gain access to a suspect's awareness using the Communicate discipline to download surface thoughts?"

_I'm going to fail/die/cry._

I heave a sigh and look around the little room. I get lost in a vision of my ambitions and hopes flying out the little institutional window and into the rainy afternoon.

When I snap out of it, everybody else seems to have finished the theory and have moved on to the practical. I'm behind!

_Focus, damn it!_

Glaring at the Waster beside me I suddenly get an idea. He's not the most literate type, I can tell. He's clearly mouthing the words, **the answers**, as he's typing them.

_Hmm… Why the fuck not? I mean, he's practically telling me the answers._ _If I don't move my head, no one's gonna know if I stare at him. Let's_ _all hear it for eyes without pupils!_

Unlike most of my school, I actually know the meaning of the word 'paraphrase'. This should be easy, and when I get my Deathsuit, it won't even be cheating, because then I'll know for myself. I'll work hard. I'll learn fast and no one will ever know the difference. I crack a small smirk and start typing.

_Meny, here I come._

_TBC?_

**A/N: **Okay, this was a very random piece I had lying around on my computer, and probably makes no sense at all! (sorry)

For some reason, I just wanted to put it out there, so Voila, there you go.

Ebon Hush


End file.
